AS she stands beside the beautiful clear water, an unpleasant thought comes into her mind. It was only yesterday that some white travellers came through the village on horseback. A little girl about Auwae's own age was in the party. She was very pretty. Her cheeks were pink and white; her hair was like the golden sunlight; her eyes were as clear and blue as the waters surrounding the beautiful island. "Why wasn't I made white?" the little brown girl said to herself. "If I should bathe myself over and over again, it would make no difference. I should never look like her. Oh, dear, I will ask mother why God made us so different." She ran quickly back down the pathway till she met her mother. "Mamma," she whispered, "I think you are just lovely as you are, but still I do wish I had been born to look like the little American girl I saw yesterday on horseback." "My dear one," answered her mother, "God is love, and all are alike to Him. In the fields around us He has made flowers of many kinds and colours. Some roses are red, and some are white, yet the red and the white are equally admired. So it is with the people who share His life. Some are of one colour, some another; they are all needed to give variety and beauty to the world. All are equally His work. Be happy and contented, my darling, and think no more about it." Auwae's eyes grow bright again as her mother speaks. The shadow passes away, and she is her own joyous self again. "Of course it is all right. I'm glad I'm just what I am," she exclaims. "And yet, mamma, when Christmas comes, I believe I should like a white doll that would look like that little girl. I could have such fun playing with her and curling her hair. You know we often put red and white roses in the same bowl, and they look very pretty together." "All right, I will remember your wish when the time comes," laughs her good-natured mother, while Auwae hastens away, half dancing, half running. She must certainly hurry to bed now, for to-morrow is a school day, and she wishes to wake early in the morning. The moon shines so brightly to-night that Auwae can easily see to undress by it and stretch upon the floor the strip of tapa which serves for her bed. If it were dark, however, she would use an odd candle that she herself made. It is formed of candlenuts strung together. They grew near Auwae's home, and are so much like wax they burn readily. I should much prefer them to a calabash of beef fat with a rag for a wick, which is sometimes used by Auwae's mother. "Now I lay me down to sleep," repeats the gentle child, as she kneels in her little corner, and is soon fast asleep. Where did Auwae learn this prayer? It was in the white church in the village. There the old Hawaiian minister tells his little flock every Sunday of the One True God, and of the loving Friend who said: "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven."